


Tangled Up In You

by halotolerant



Category: Blades of Glory (2007)
Genre: Hair Brushing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant/pseuds/halotolerant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy replaces the lost verticoli hairbrush (Post-Movie)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled Up In You

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2007 after seeing the movie about eight times in cinema, the first NC-17 rated fic I ever shared on LJ! I've not edited or altered it, this is the original version for better or worse *g*

“Close your eyes” Jimmy had said. Now Chazz waited, hands out, open.

Something solid and paper-covered fell into them, a familiar weight and shape, except…

“But I lost this. How did you..?”

“FedEx.” Jimmy’s voice was smiling. “Um, you can open your eyes now.”

Chazz hadn’t realised, quite, that he’d been waiting for permission. He blinked, looking first at Jimmy’s pleased expression, then down at the brush, which was wrapped in snow-flake covered paper.

“…my verticoli” he whispered, stroking along the paper before opening it, feeling the tenting over the bristles, the smooth run of the back. The first possession he’d ever considered too precious to sell, the first thing that had been untouchably his. “There’s a waiting list of, like, years, Jimmy, how did you manage it?”

“I may have used the word endorsement – people in the hair world respect the original Jimmy-curl, you know.” Jimmy gave a self-deprecating snort and ran a hand almost unconsciously through his waves. He was standing over Chazz’s chair, obviously still thrilled at his partner’s surprise and pleasure.

Chazz gently tore at the edge of the paper, then carefully unrobed the whole brush, savouring the first glide of the whalebone against his finger tips. For Chazz the tactile was everything – the feeling of leather, of the ice under his skates, of sweat, of his wolf hide and of human contact, which he drank up like a sponge.

For Jimmy – he’d noticed – it was the smell/taste pathways that dominated. Jimmy who used three different kinds of deodorant, who loved snow cones and the juicy explosion of handfuls of skittles at a time.

Jimmy who’d once told him he smelt of cheap beer and taco meat.

Chazz fondled the brush for another moment, remembering another night they’d stood over a verticoli, the first moment they’d ever really connected. And, sheesh, it had been like flipping the switch on a million Christmas lights – him sitting, holding his brush, talking it up, boasting, and suddenly seeing that Jimmy was really getting *into* it, whether he knew it or not, one hand stroking his chest, biting on his lip, reaching out, wide-eyed…

Chazz had snatched it back, called top and escaped. Because he’d still resented Jimmy MacElroy, and whilst the thought of sex with him had been anything but unappealing, the thought of connecting to him in any other sense at all was repulsive.

By the time Jimmy had thrown him, more than literally, in the iron lotus, everything had flipped and whatever rules there had been were long gone.

“Okay, Jimmy-curl” Chazz said, slowly, “I guess I owe you by, like, honour and stuff. You wanna get some brush-lovin’ on that valuable hair?”

“Chazz, are you offering me a go with the verticoli?” Jimmy sounded stunned.

“Minimal torque, remember? I saw the look in your eyes when you heard that, princess.” Chazz held out the verticoli, watching as Jimmy reached out to take it, their fingers brushing over the back. Jimmy’s eye darted to his, an uncertainty in them, and Chazz had to fight down the urge to just...lunge.

Jimmy took the brush from Chazz into his own, smaller hand reverentially, and then brought it up towards his head. Instead of sweeping it through his hair he lifted the bristles nearer his nose and took a delicate sniff of the rich leather/glue/polish smell, mouth coming a tiny way open as he did so.

Which should have been nothing like erotic but *shit*…

Chazz shifted in his seat and Jimmy turned, half-guiltily: “Hey, Chazz, you wanna, um…oh boy, um, you wanna brush it for me?”

Raising an eyebrow, Chazz stared back at him for a second. Nuh uh. There was no way this was conversation about hair care anymore. It was starting to feel like he’d wandered into a less-good ‘plotty’ porn film and that? - that was what really sucker-punched him because now, looking at Jimmy – his nervous eyes, thin sweat on his upper lip, pulse racing in his throat – he could understand that Jimmy was going about this how he thought it *had* to be.

Like a guy who’d, say, rented a bunch of less-good porn films to try and figure out what to do from them.

A thrill ran through Chazz’s body at the thought, but otherwise he felt a weird emptiness. Except it wasn’t weird, it was the familiar ‘zone’ he’d fallen into with every one of the hundreds of people he’d slept with, a place where his brain disengaged, taking some essential essence of him with it, leaving the rest of him to enjoy what he could, while he could. A terminally unsatisfying scenario.

It was playing to a scene, a crowd and an expectation. It was what it would be if, now, he was to take Jimmy, bend him sweet and slow over the bed and drive him crazy. Jimmy would go crazy, and Chazz would be left behind, just like every other time.

So he looked back at Jimmy, his friend, his…dear Jimmy, trying so hard. Failing.

But Jimmy did that iron lotus, Chazz told himself, first go, no practice, no safety-net. Jimmy’s stronger than he looks, stronger than he wants to make out, stronger than he thinks anyone wants or can handle. Something else is hiding under there.

“Do you want me to brush your hair?” Chazz said, finally, words cracking the rich silence like brittle chocolate.

“I…um.”

“Ask – no - tell me to. If you want to. Or if you want me to go, tell me to do that.”

Chazz was skating on untried ice now. It felt dangerous, new and oddly clean.

Jimmy’s eyes bore into his for long seconds, trying to read something:

“Chazz?” he said, and on not receiving an answer: “B-brush me, Chazz.” And he put his hands on his hips, maybe just to stop them trembling.

Slowly, Chazz rose, verticoli clasped like an amulet. He sidled up behind his partner, close enough to hear his rapid breathing, feel the heat coming off of him. He was about to raise the brush when an idea came to him, zinging from his brain to his toes, and he pulled back.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked, low.

“Y-yes.” Jimmy managed, still sounding more scared than anything else.

Chazz waited, unmoving, fingers aching, aching to run over Jimmy’s slim torso, to feel the soft hairs of his arms, to try the texture of a long, pale neck under his mouth.

He was just about to crack and grab it all, when Jimmy said, so low he wouldn’t have caught it in his previous position: “Touch me. Just the hair. Just brush my hair.” His voice came endearingly dry-mouthed.

Mentally punching his fist in the air, Chazz got to it. He let the brush stream down the already perfectly styled locks, watching in fascination as Jimmy gasped at little moments when the bristles caught the flesh around his ears. Chazz started doing it accidentally, very gently to avoid scratching, just teasing enough and enough till Jimmy shied to the side to get more contact and hissed: “In...my ear. Touch my ear…I…why on earth is that so good? My ear!”

Still standing behind him Chazz let the bristles’ glide over Jimmy’s right ear lobe, feeling a bucking back of Jimmy’s hips sweetly, sweetly against his own groin. When Jimmy took a little gasping breath he went in closer, dragging his tongue around the outer ear, painting over each of those little nerve endings, then blowing softly across it. Jimmy moaned, breathily, and, reaching behind him, found Chazz’s hands and brought them forward to lie over his chest. Still nuzzling at Jimmy’s neck, Chazz could feel the hard pebbles of Jimmy’s nipples under each palm, and once again he forced himself to wait, sure on a gut level that this was the safe course.

“Tell me” he whispered in Jimmy’s ear, half-sound, half-touch. Then he drove his tongue into the delicate folds of cartilage, and Jimmy groaned, twisted in his arms and started kissing him like it was going out of fashion.

Somehow, mouths close and hot, breathing each other, Jimmy’s tongue as nimble and erotic as it could only really be if he was *literally* tasting him (and that image…oh), they fell onto the couch, Chazz on his back and Jimmy on top. So incensed was he by the wet heat coming onto him that Chazz grabbed hold of his partner’s ass with both hands and made one move to grind their erections together.

Then Jimmy was sitting up, moving away.

Chazz tried to breathe, tried to think of what joke to make that could possibly fix this thing breaking…

But Jimmy had only sat back on his heels, still straddling him. And now he was taking Chazz’s hands, gently but firmly, and pushing them up and away, above Chazz’s head, holding them down a few seconds. Jimmy’s eyes rolled down then, asking a silent question, and Chazz let himself close his own eyes and hiss, let himself understand how damn amazing it felt to be underneath his partner. As Jimmy sat back again, Chazz kept his hands where they’d been put, a promise.

Wide-eyed, dark-eyed, flushing red and so hard it must be hurting him; Jimmy’s own arousal at the situation could not be doubted. Then, moving with considered slowness, he was putting his hands on Chazz’s belt, undoing it, then the jeans and carefully easing down the zipper, Chazz feeling every metallic click with resonating pleasure.

The jeans came off, and the under-pants, and then Jimmy was considering the length of Chazz’s erection like it was a new figure-skating diagram he hadn’t seen before. Chazz had to fight so hard not to move his hands as Jimmy came closer to it, evidently sniffing, and then –oh-shit-yes-like-that – taking one tiny, exploratory, tasting lick that made Chazz involuntarily lift his hips into the velvet-slick caress.

Jimmy’s hands came down again, pinning Chazz’s pelvis, and this time there was no question in his eyes, just a vein of triumphant glee Chazz had seen before when he – say for example- _figured out_ a new figure-skating diagram.

Pulling away, getting up, Jimmy quickly stripped off – worth the admission fee by itself, that – and picked the verticoli once more off the floor. He held it over Chazz’s body for a moment, like a magic wand, then carefully brought it down and carded once over Chazz’s ample chest hair.

It was just *that* side of painful, intense, tight touches that raced over his nerve endings, and Chazz closed his eyes tight, trying not to yell out, demand or lift his hips again. This was a mistake because he had *absolutely no fucking warning* for when those bristles scraped over his left nipple, and were just as swiftly followed by an agile, inquisitive tongue.

He had to yell or move, and “Jimmy!” came out, rough-sounding enough to embarrass him.

“Not ‘princess’?” The brush came over his right nipple now, at the word. “Not *home-school*?”

“Jimmy. Jimmy please…oh…please, again. Jimmy. Jimmy.”

There was a happy, wondering chuckle and an affectionate mouth came back to the tender flesh, licking warmth and softness until…

“Oh! Aw yesssss…that…that’s…do that…”

Jimmy, it seemed, had teeth of his own.

“You like that” Jimmy said – it wasn’t a question.

“I like that” Chazz confirmed, feeling the words were meaning more than that.

“Good.”

Jimmy was sitting back again, leaving Chazz trying to find out a way to reach out with his torso. He’d got the brush in his hand, toying with it, then suddenly he opened his mouth and carefully licked over the bristles.

Chazz felt an urge of precome appear and start to journey down his cock. And then it came again, because, having evidently decided it would be OK to do so, Jimmy leant over and very, very carefully, raked the thousands of little hairs over the underside of Chazz’s cock.

“That’s for the bears” Jimmy grinned, evilly.

Chazz could only manage “…nngh?” feeling tiny after-shocks of the touch like an itch, desperate for more, anything, everything. It came back, then the cold surprise of wet fingers (opening his eyes he saw Jimmy licking his palm and almost came there and then), then that brush – that gift – again and again.

After uncounted minutes, Chazz was starting to feel like the pain in his groin would never go away; the heat would just rise and rise until he melted. This was the disadvantage of letting your inexperienced lover top-out, he thought, it meant a certain obliviousness to ‘I need you to do me, do me, do me now’ signals.

Not that he was complaining, not at all.

He became aware that there was a voice in his ear, and tried to focus back.

“…me?” Jimmy was saying.

“W-what?”

That uncertainty earned him a kiss; a long, deep one ripe with weeks of unspoken tendernesses. When Jimmy pulled back, Chazz opened his eyes to look up at him.

Up. At. Him.

There should have been so much wrong with that sentence. Chazz didn’t bottom, certainly not with guys, and since when had he ever had a sexual encounter with a man that was either horizontal and/or lasted more than about the five minutes it took to get sucked off in a sleazy toilet?

But now Jimmy’s face was smiling down at him and…shit. It was just…it was warm and pleasant and way, way too much openness to sit comfortably. Chazz had gotten that kind of a look onto a lot of faces in his time, and he knew all too well what he could turn it into, the damage he could do.

“Do you trust me?” Jimmy asked again, that deep seriousness in his voice he usually reserved for skating.

Come to think of it, that kid could do a lot of damage himself.

“You know I do, moron” Chazz replied, feeling cheesy as hell but reflecting that the old ones were the good ones for a reason.

“Then will you trust me that I’m telling the truth when I say I never did any of this before?” Soft voiced, earnest.

“Jimmy, sure, but…why ask, I mean…what?”

“Not any of *this*. Not the touching part.”

“But…there’s a but coming”

“But will you also trust me that I had good reasons not to tell about other stuff. Good reasons that are my reasons, not ones you need to ask about. Not yet. Will you?”  
  


“Jimmy what do you mean?”

And Jimmy bent forward, supple as leather, and swallowed his cock right down, in one expert, fluid go.

Chazz may possibly have screamed at this point. He may possibly have writhed and petted Jimmy’s head and cursed fifty shades of blue out of every deity he can name. He may have come harder and faster than he ever has in his life.

He doesn’t really remember.

What he does remember is coming round, afterwards, coming round in someone else’s arms for the first time that wasn’t also a coming down and then quite swiftly a throwing up. Jimmy was cradling him, half-comically with his smaller body, stroking down his arm and with one leg thrown over his, butterfly-kissing at his jaw.

It was scary and weird and new and…maybe this is what first times are like, if you wait – he thought. Maybe if you don’t lose your virginity at ten, if you never learn to use sex as a currency or a scoreboard, maybe if you wait until you love someone, until you’re in love with them so hard you’d *not* have sex with them if it meant you could stay around them, maybe then first times are like this. Like in one of those songs he can’t stand when he’s drunk.

He raised a hand, tentatively, and stroked the back down Jimmy’s cheek, wonderingly. Jimmy’s expression was maybe a little too self-satisfied for Chazz’s liking, and gradually as he put the pieces back together, he looked down and saw that the party really was over.

“I wanted to…” he started, and stopped, because the list was way too long and he never figured out what came first.

“Oh you did, trust me” said Jimmy, shyly, and Chazz noticed the sticky trace on the palm stroking his arm, and pictured the deed and just _quivered_.

“I do trust you” Chazz repeated, making Jimmy chuckle. “But trust me when I say I am far from done with you, MacElroy, and that includes getting some answers. Or at least getting some ass.”

Jimmy winced – at the hideous half-rhyme, the suggestion or the language, Chazz couldn’t tell – then laid his head down on Chazz’s chest, soft hair brushing over still-sensitive nipples.

Jimmy swallowed, then spoke: “Do you think this is what the first time is like, if you wait?” he asked, voice not quite steady.

Chazz couldn’t speak. Then he widened his arms and hugged Jimmy close, tight and secure, praying that between them and the verticoli they could untangle this right.

“You smell good, by the way” Jimmy murmured, falling asleep.

Maybe anything was possible.


End file.
